


Prophet

by tatterwitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Reader Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatterwitch/pseuds/tatterwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anon request: "I loved your fic "A First for everything" and was wondering if you could write a one-shot based on the imagine: "Imagine being the next prophet and Lucifer and Michael fighting over who gets to protect you". You can go anywhere you like from there, let your imagination run wild or whatever they say. If you're not taking requests then I'm sorry to bother you. Have a nice day!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prophet

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, I was in a sorrowful mood as of late.

It had all started out simply enough.

Really, it'd just been another ordinary day. Granted, there wasn't much ordinary in your life to begin with, but, hey. It was your sort of normal.

Sleep was sort of hard to come by these days. You'd always had weird dreams. A lot of them were frankly nightmares, actually. Blood, destruction, chaos, wars, mostly. But those had all come in sporadic flashes of dreams before this year. Now, it was rare that you could get an hour of shut-eye before the nightmares came a-knocking.

You stumbled into the bathroom and fumbled your way through a shower. The mirror above the sink displayed your haggard visage. Dark circles ringed your bloodshot eyes. You smudged on some concealer and dressed quickly.

The tiny, grimy apartment you rented wasn't much, but it was home. For now, at least. And you had to work to keep a roof over your head. No matter how bad the dreams got.

With a shuddering sigh, you began the long walk into town. The wind was cold. It nipped at any skin that your thin clothes didn't cover. Your toes practically froze in your shoes. Puddles rippled as rain poured. Lightning flickered as thunder crashed. You were going to look like a drowned cat by the time you arrived...

Your ears began to ring.

And then the headache came. A skull-splitting, brain-melting migraine that had your knees buckling as the concrete rushed up to meet your face. And then came the images. More blood mixed with bright light, unfamiliar faces and deafening voices. Shining figures with scary-looking knives and shadowy things with black eyes and jagged claws and teeth.

Gasping, you dragged yourself into a nearby alley, hoping to ride out whatever the hell this was. Something hot trickled from your nose and ears. Your cheek burned. The ringing noise grew in volume until every other sound was abolished. It was a voice... And it was speaking...

But your body was too far gone to recognize any words. A black wall climbed over your vision as you slumped against the alley wall.

 

Something cool was pressing against your throat.

The ground beneath you was cold and hard and wet. Damp hair clung to one side of your stinging face. The thing at your neck moved. With a sharp cry, you struck out blindly with your hands. There came a surprised grunt as one of your blows connected with what felt like...A body.

"Whoa. Hey, there, prophet. Calm yourself, sweetheart." The voice was low and held an undercurrent of sinuous command.

Cool hands caught your's and long fingers wrapped tight around your wrists. You struggled to open your eyes. You blinked rapidly, lashes matted together with rain. The alley...You swept your gaze around.

There was a man leaned over you. His skin was pale and there were sore spots over his temples and cheeks. Icy blue eyes flickered beneath light brows. Blond hair was spiked with rain and you could have sworn that the dark brown flecks on his clothes weren't from mud. Your head ached fiercely as you tried to raise it from against the wall. The world spun. Your wrists were transferred to one hand quickly before your chin was caught.

"Open your eyes, prophet."

You blinked against the vertigo as you gasped. "What's happening to me, the voices..."

Pain lanced through your skull as you shook your head. "Your voice...It was one of them."

Blue eyes lit with bemusement. "It was. So you heard mine and my brother's squabble?"

"Squabble." The word fell from your lips flatly.

The fingers on your chin tightened slightly. Something coppery leaked into your mouth. You swallowed reflexively. Blood.

"Argument, dispute. Whichever you please. How much did you hear, prophet?"

This was crazy. Prophet? What the hell did that mean? You knew one thing for certain. The man in front of you was no good. Power practically oozed from him. His eyes flashes with it, the firm set of his mouth assured that he was no fool either.

"A prophet. Is that what I am?" Your voice was scratchy and hitched a little. Not really the bad-ass vibe you were hoping for.

"So I am truly the first to find you. How interesting."

You made a small sound of derision. Those light eyes flicked to your's and acted as a sort of trap. No, this man was not someone to be trifled with.

"I'm not interesting, sir. Far from it."

His thumb swept over your chin, the tip just grazing your lower lip. "Interesting."

Thunder cracked deafeningly.

The noise had your head throbbing as you cried out, hands instinctively trying to cover your ears. Your wrists didn't budge from the man's grip, though. His face lifted and he rose from your side.

"We need to leave."

"Why?"

He bent, arms winding beneath your knees and shoulders before lifting you easily. "My brother is on his way. And I think you'll find him far less agreeable than I."

"Brother, the other voice-?"

"You'll probably want to brace yourself." It was the only warning he gave you before the world vanished with a whirl of vertigo.

There was a noise that sounded suspiciously like...Feathers. The world reappeared and something met your back and shoulders roughly.

The couch was torn and frayed, old green material faded to a murky shade. The wooden floor was dusty and spattered with suspicious brown flecks. Sheet-draped furniture was cluttered around the outskirts of the room. There were windows, smudged and coated with a layer of yellow-grey age.

Your headache was beginning to subside. Your face itched, though. When you drew your hand away, your skin was smeared with red.

" _Oh_ ," The word escaped as a shocked squeak.

Your hand trembled before your gaze. Calm. You needed to stay calm and in control. The man uttered a sort of exasperated sound and sat beside you.

The couch dipped beneath his weight, causing you to sort of slide into his side. He stiffened before moving over, leaving a hands-width of distance between you. One of his hands came up and cupped your chin. There was a flow of power that rippled over and under your skin. You couldn't help but shudder. It was odd, as though you'd prodded an exposed electrical outlet, but it was not painful.

His hand dropped. "Prophet."

Very carefully, you raised your eyes from your hands. There was something about this man that wasn't...human. It was the raw power that radiated from him, the sheer feeling that at any moment he could simply bat you across the room if he so pleased. It was of the utmost importance that you treaded carefully.

"Is that what I am now? Forgive me, but, I really don't understand everything that's happened, sir."

A tiny smile pulled up the corner of his lips. "Sir," He muttered the word to himself with a sort of amused air. "You have more manners than most of my demons."

 _Demons_? Holy heaven, what had you gotten yourself into, here?

"Thank you?" You felt oddly...charmed.

Another half-smile. "It was meant as a compliment, Prophet."

"May I ask why you keep calling me by that name, sir?"

This time the man chuckled. It was a low, somewhat rusty sound, as if he hadn't laughed in a very long time.

"So formal. Tell me, Prophet, what is your given name?"

You swallowed. "Y/N Y/L/N, sir."

He made a curious sound before turning his body towards your's. "Well, Y/N, it's a long story, but seeing as we have naught but ample time..."

 

The sky was dark by the time he had concluded his story.

You were leaned forward, arms wrapped tight around your knees. Your mind fairly buzzed with all of this new information.

"I'm sorry, sir, Lucifer. But, may I ask a question?"

You were still in awe over the fact that this was one of heaven's most revered creations. Lucifer the Morning Star, one of God's most beloved, one of his first children. And he was here, on earth after centuries, millenia even, of being trapped in his prison. Conflicting emotions warred inside your chest. And yet, for all this creature had done, you couldn't help but feel for him. You understood his motivations, sympathized, even. There was no black or white, but thousands of shades of grey.

"You just did," Lucifer moved away from the window.

Flushing, you shook your head. "I'm sorry-"

There was that reluctantly amused smile again. "Ask your question, Y/N."

"Why-why me? Surely someone wiser or older or more important should have been Prophet. I'm nothing. Just a run-of-the-mill human. None of that is me."

"Interesting." Lucifer murmured.

"What-" Your ears began to ring. "Oh, no."

Lucifer's shoulders tightened, his face grew cold and cruel. "Michael comes."

There was a loud crack of thunder and what sounded like an entire flock of birds taking wing. Then, only silence for a moment.

"Lucifer, we had spoken of this. The Prophet must be taken unto Heaven to learn the Word." The male voice was full of anger and heat. "It is my charge to protect the Prophet, have you forgotten that?"

You blinked your vision clear.

There was another man, this one significantly younger than Lucifer's vessel. His hair was blond and his frame lean. A set of blue eyes flashed over to your face as the newcomer strode across the room to where you sat. You curled into the back of the couch when he reached out.

"Come, Prophet."

Lucifer was there, suddenly, his body between your's and his brother's. "You're not taking her anywhere, Michael. I have not forgotten your penchant for assuming that everything you want is your's."

"Father said-"

Lucifer made a derisive sound. "Father said many things. Many of them were ridiculous. Why do you still follow him blindly when you know he has no care for any of this?"

"It was His will, Lucifer. And I must fulfill his will. Give me the Prophet."

"His will? As it was His will to have us become subservient to humans? These weak, vulnerable creatures?"

Michael's eyes darkened. "You don't have to agree with His will. Only obey. But you lost that right long ago."

Power practically crackled in the air. The fine hairs on your skin stood on end.

Michael stepped closer, his chest inches away from his brother's. His jaw clenched as his eyes blazed. "Give me the Prophet."

Lucifer seemed to grow, his icy rage filled the room until your own breath became visible. "You're not leaving here with her, Michael. And you cannot fight me here, not now. So I suggest you leave while I still offer you the option."

Michael's face became set with hardened lines. "Very well. But I will have the Prophet in Heaven one way or another. You will not stop me in this."

Thunder boomed and feathers rustled and then the archangel was gone.

 

In your month with Lucifer, you'd come to care for the ruthless archangel.

He was cunning and calculating, witty and fearless. He could be downright terrifying whenever angels came knocking. But he'd never hurt you. Through every one of your visions, he had watched over you. Your health was tantamount.

Everything you saw, you relayed to him, sparing not a single detail. In return, you were kept safe and secure. You got the sense that Lucifer rather liked your presence. He often remarked upon your 'manners', 'colloquialisms', and 'humility'. His actions and words toward other humans and the demons under his rule were a great deal harder than those he used when with you. But, then, the devil was hard to pin down.

This was the first day he had left you alone with a squadron of his most highly trained demons. A vision had come to you last night and its contents had concerned him. And so Lucifer had departed this morning, assuring you that no harm would befall you in his absence.

You sat on the frayed couch, notebooks sprawled over your lap, the floor and table. Enochian came easily to you as the Prophet, but, when the words were more superfluously adorned, it became more of a feat to read them. Lucifer had left you with several ancient tomes written in such language and you'd been working at them for the past week. Your fingers were stained with blue and black ink and pencil lead. Eraser shavings stuck to your skin and clothes and rolled beneath your feet like grains of sand.

You'd just begun translating the next verse when the world lit up like a supernova.

Light blazed, bright white and brilliant. Demons cried out as blades clashed. Wind whipped, carrying sheafs of paper away and tossing books like leaves. Hands seized your arms roughly as something collided with your jaw.

Darkness consumed everything.

 

 

When you woke, it was dark.

No matter how much you blinked or widened your eyes, sightlessness prevailed. It was stuffy, your breath bounced back onto your lips with every exhale. A hood. They'd covered your head with a hood. Cold metal wound around your arms and legs. Chains from the way they rattled when you moved. Panic began to settle deep in your veins.

Something moved close by and a frightened whimper escaped from between your lips. A cold, sharp object pressed against the skin of your bare arms.

"Listen closely, Prophet. We're going to ask you some questions and you're going to tell us the truth or..."

Hot pain erupted as the metal was dragged across your skin. You cried out, chains rattling.

"Understand?"

 

No matter what you had told your captors, it never seemed to satisfy them.

Even if it had been the truth. The pain had long since dulled. Blood dripped monotonously onto the floor. It was so cold. Your heart couldn't beat any faster than it was.

You were going to _die_ here, in this forsaken place in only God-knew-where. Chained to a chair with a canvas hood smothering your breath and your life slowly draining away. There was the faint sound of shouting and then pained cries.

A rescue? It didn't matter now, really. You could feel yourself slipping away.

Something touched your ruined skin. If you could have felt much else, surely you would have cried out in pain. But there was only a hazy sort of feeling. The chains fell away and then you were falling, slumping, leaning. The hood was removed with a jerk and cold air kissed your face. A palm cupped your cheek as power tickled against your skin.

There was a harsh sound of denial and disbelief and the hand moved, stroking over your bruised skin.

"Y/N-" Lucifer's voice was low and held the faintest tinge of sorrow.

"I told you, brother. I'd have the Prophet one way or another."

Your body was lifted. You weren't entirely sure if you were still alive. Your heartbeat had become lost to your ears as you hung limply.

"You preached of our Father's will once, Michael. How is it that this Prophet died at your hands when angels were charged with their protection?" Lucifer's voice was cold as ice and just as sharp.

"Who was it that once told me that all humans were no more than weak, vulnerable creatures that were entirely disposable, brother?"

There was a long moment of silence in which your body was cradled with infinite gentleness. Then, feathers fluttered.

"Do not think that this is over, brother." Michael's voice echoed.

Lucifer's laugh was cruel. "I wouldn't dream of it."

The world spun and then your body was being settled on something. A hand pressed flat over your chest.

Then, something strange happened.

It was like you were leaving your body, like something was tugging you free. It wasn't pleasant, yet, neither was it thoroughly unpleasant. It was just...

Freeing.

Lucifer's voice rose, low and soft. " _Ave_ , Y/N. May your heaven be better than mine ever was."


End file.
